out her arms in appeal. "I was carried away with my hatred of war. I hate it yet. But now—the sudden realization of what this compact all means has—well, caused something in me to—to snap. I don't care what oath I have taken. Oh, Professor Kennedy, you—you must save him!"
I looked up at her quickly. What did she mean? At first she had come to be saved herself. "You must save him!" she implored.
Our door buzzer sounded.
She gazed about with a hunted look, as if she felt that some one had even now pursued her and found out.
"What shall I do?" she whispered. "Where shall I go?"
"Quick—in here. No one will know," urged Kennedy, opening the door to his room. He paused for an instant, hurriedly. "Tell me—have you and this other woman met the Baron yet? How far has it gone?"
The look she gave him was peculiar. I could not fathom what was going on in her mind. But there was no hesitation about her answer. "Yes," she replied, "I—we have met him. He is to come back to New York from Washington to-day—this afternoon—to arrange a private loan of five million dollars with some bankers secretly. We were to see him to-night—a quiet dinner, after an automobile ride up the Hudson—"
"Both of you?" interrupted Craig.
"Yes—that—that other woman and myself," she repeated, with a peculiar catch in her voice. "To-night was the time fixed in the drawing for the—"
The word stuck in her throat. Kennedy understood. "Yes, yes," he encouraged, "but who is the other woman?"
Before she could reply, the buzzer had sounded again and she had retreated from the door. Quickly Kennedy closed it and opened the outside door.
It was our old friend Burke of the Secret Service.
Without a word of greeting, a hasty glance seemed to assure him that Kennedy and I were alone. He closed the door himself, and, instead of sitting down, came close to Craig.
"Kennedy," he blurted out in a tone of suppressed excitement, "can I trust you to keep a big secret?"
Craig looked at him reproachfully, but said nothing.
"I beg your pardon—a thousand times," hastened Burke. "I was so excited, I wasn't thinking—"
"Once is enough, Burke," laughed Kennedy, his good nature restored at
Burke's crestfallen appearance.
"Well, you see," went on the Secret Service man, "this thing is so very important that—well, I forgot."
He sat down and hitched his chair close to us, as he went on in a lowered, almost awestruck tone.
"Kennedy," he whispered, "I'm on the trail, I think, of something growing out of these terrible conditions in Europe that will tax the best in the Secret Service. Think of it, man. There's an organization, right here in this city, a sort of assassin's club, as it were, aimed at all the powerful men the world over. Why, the most refined and intellectual reformers have joined with the most red-handed anarchists and—"
"Sh! not so loud," cautioned Craig. "I think I have one of them in the next room. Have they done anything yet to the Baron?"
It was Burke's turn now to look from one to the other of us in unfeigned surprise that we should already know something of his secret.
"The Baron?" he repeated, lowering his voice. "What Baron?"
It was evident that Burke knew nothing, at least of this new plot which Miss Lowe had indicated. Kennedy beckoned him over to the window furthest from the door to his own room.
"What have you discovered?" he asked, forestalling Burke in the questioning. "What has happened?"
"You haven't heard, then?" replied Burke.
Kennedy nodded negatively.
"Fortescue, the American inventor of fortescite, the new explosive, died very strangely this morning."
"Yes," encouraged Kennedy, as Burke came to a full stop to observe the effect of the information.
"Most incomprehensible, too," he pursued. "No cause, apparently. But it might have been overlooked, perhaps, except for one thing. It wasn't known generally, but Fortescue had just perfected a successful electro-magnetic gun—powderless, smokeless, flashless, noiseless and of tremendous power. To-morrow he was to have signed the contract to sell it to England. This morning he is found dead and the final plans of the gun are gone!"
Kennedy and Burke were standing mutely looking at each other.
"Who is in the next room?" whispered Burke hoarsely, recollecting
Kennedy's caution of silence.
Kennedy did not reply immediately. He was evidently much excited by
Burke's news of the wonderful electro-magnetic gun.
"Burke," he exclaimed suddenly, "let's join forces. I think we are both on the trail of a world-wide conspiracy—a sort of murder syndicate to wipe out war!"
Burke's only reply was a low whistle that involuntarily escaped him as he reached over and grasped Craig's hand, which to him represented the sealing of the compact.
As for me, I could not restrain a mental shudder at the power that their first murder had evidently placed in the hands of the anarchists, if they indeed had the electro-magnetic gun which inventors had been seeking for generations. What might they not do with it—perhaps even use it themselves and turn the latest invention against society itself!
Hastily Craig gave a whispered account of our strange visit from Miss
Lowe, while Burke listened, open-mouthed.
He had scarcely finished when he reached for the telephone and asked for long distance.
"Is this the German embassy in Washington?" asked Craig a few moments later when he got his number. "This is Craig Kennedy, in New York. The United States Secret Service will vouch for me—mention to them Mr. Burke of their New York office who is here with me now. I understand that Baron Kreiger is leaving for New York to meet some bankers this afternoon. He must not do so. He is in the gravest danger if he—What? He left last night at midnight and is already here?"
Kennedy turned to us blankly.
The door to his room opened suddenly.
There stood Miss Lowe, gazing wild-eyed at us. Evidently her supernervous condition had heightened the keenness of her senses. She had heard what we were saying. I tried to read her face. It was not fear that I saw there. It was rage; it was jealousy.
"The traitress—it is Marie!" she shrieked.
For a moment, obtusely, I did not understand.
"She has made a secret appointment with him," she cried.
At last I saw the truth. Paula Lowe had fallen in love with the man she had sworn to kill!
CHAPTER II
THE ELECTRO-MAGNETIC GUN
"What shall we do?" demanded Burke, instantly taking in the dangerous situation that the Baron's sudden change of plans had opened up.
"Call O'Connor," I suggested, thinking of the police bureau of missing persons, and reaching for the telephone.
"No, no!" almost shouted Craig, seizing my arm. "The police will inevitably spoil it all. No, we must play a lone hand in this if we are to work it out. How was Fortescue discovered, Burke?"
"Sitting in a chair in his laboratory. He must have been there all night. There wasn't a mark on him, not a sign of violence, yet his face was terribly drawn as though he were gasping